


The Beagles

by CplCrimp



Category: The Beagles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gay, Jewish Character, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), M/M, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-11-19 00:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18128681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CplCrimp/pseuds/CplCrimp
Summary: The Beagles is a lost cartoon from 1966 starring two musical dogs and their agent getting into ridiculous antics for the sake of getting the duo into the public's eye. What if some of those stories were rewritten and set in a more modern environment?





	1. Pilot

It was a crisp autumn day in Manhattan. Trees a mix of green and orange. A light drizzle had let up just a minute ago. Not that this stopped the city, nor did it stop a certain dog in his apartment.

The dog was short and stout, his ears were black and he had freckles the same color. He wore a red sweater and glasses and contently played a standing bass, singing softly in New York accent.

“Lookin’ for The Beagles… lookin’ high and low…” he sighed, stopping his playing, speaking hurriedly, “High is for the eagles, low is all the Beagles kno- _ ow…  _ ridin’ on a busted bubble to wherever there’s some trouble, that’s where the Beagles go.”

He blew a raspberry, setting his bass against a wall, walking over to a coffee table to look at sheet music. He sat on the couch just beside it and started editing notes.

“Sounds much better in Stringer’s voice,” he muttered, leaning back and rereading.

Almost as if the name had summoned him, the door clicked open and a much taller dog walked in excitedly. He looked alot like his partner, his muzzle a much lighter color, no freckles, no glasses, ears bent backward, wearing a green sweater and a damp leather jacket.

“Tubby!” he said loudly.

“What’s got you all excited?”

“Well,” he closed the door and promptly plopped down next to Tubby, “At work, someone was reading the paper and I saw three separate ads for talent agencies!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah!” he clapped his hands excitedly, “This might be our lucky break!”

Tubby shrugged, setting the papers back down, “I mean, all we’re wasting is our time, right?”

Stringer sighed jokingly, “And here I was trying to be positive about it.”

Tubby chuckled, “No, I’m glad, but we might not get signed on.”

Stringer shrugged, standing, “Never know if we don’t go.”

Tubby tilted his head, smiling.

(...)

They found the building fairly quickly, with the help of Stringer’s memory of its name and a map app. It was taller than the average house, yet much shorter than a skyscraper.  _ Record Records _ was painted neatly on a dark glass door. Tubby squeezed Stringer’s hand as if to ask for approval. Stringer nodded, so they walked in, Tubby’s instrument in its case in hand and Stringer’s across his back.

They stopped holding hands immediately, yet still stood close enough to make sure it was noted they were musical partners.

“Hi, we’re here to answer an ad?” Stringer muttered softly, as he walked up to the front desk, trying to hide his shaking voice.

The lady at the desk nodded, then scribbled a room number and name on a piece of paper in just-legible cursive. 321, Soundstopper.

Stringer and Tubby looked at eachother, quickly thanking her and walking off toward an elevator.

“I don't know if I trust someone named Soundstopper,” Tubby said quietly. Stringer just shrugged in response.

Getting off the elevator, the two walked down the hall until they found the proper room number. A dry-erase board had “Come In” written on it in aggressive print. Stringer and Tubby stepped in just as Soundstopper got off a phone call. He was an old white man in a maroon suit, balding. He looked up at Stringer and Tubby.

“Two dogs,” he muttered to himself, though the two overheard, “What’s this city coming to?” He then raised his voice to obviously address them, “I assume you're the two the desk clerk told me about?”

“Sure are,” Tubby responded, voice full of bitterness.

“Well, you got a song to sing,” he made a hand movement toward them, “Start.”

They quickly unpacked their instruments, not expecting such quickness. Soundstopper scoffed when he saw Tubby’s. Tubby just gave a breath of contempt in response.

Stringer played the first notes, Tubby quickly joining. Then Stringer started singing.

“Lookin’ for the Beagles, lookin’ high and low, high is for the eagles, low is all the Beagle’s kno _ -ow! _ ”

He made his voice a bit higher, Tubby quietly joining, “Ridin’ on a busted bubble to wherever there’s some trouble! That’s where the Beagles go!”

They continued playing in anticipation for the first verse, but Soundstopper cut them off before they could.

“Very self-deprecating. And very bubblegum. Not good. Get outta my office.”

Stringer and Tubby just blinked in disbelief, and after a moment just re-placed their instruments and left. Once outside, Stringer started to find out the directions to the second place, Smash Records. Meanwhile, Tubby was agitated.

“Even if he liked the song I wouldn’t take him as an agent anyway. You heard him, about us being dogs and  _ oh what is this city coming to!”  _ anger edged his voice as he repeated that.

“ _ Yeeahhh…”  _ Stringer muttered.

“And bubblegum… number one bubblegum is a great genre, number two I don't think I’d consider our song bubblegum.”

“I would.  _ Sugar Sugar  _ is bubblegum-”

“Uh yeah, I would hope so!” said Tubby jokingly.

Stringer went on without acknowledgment, “And that  _ is  _ up in my favorite songs.”

Tubby shrugged in agreement, “Now that you say it I can certainly see the similarities between us and The Archies.”

When they reached Smash Records, it wasn't much different. Bubblegum hatred and mild hatred of their doginess. They stepped out with Tubby discouraged.

“We’ve still got one more place!” Stringer tried to console him, grabbing his hand, “Broken Records!”

“Stringer, if we sign for a place called  _ Broken Records _ I have no doubts a record what be the only thing of ours broken.”

“I hear it's very good!”

“I’m not getting my hopes up!”

(...)

Broken Records had indeed broken their spirits. Both walked out saddened by this, but before they could leave a gray terrier in a blue suit and yellow hat came running up to them.

“Hey, wait!” He gasped, Scottish accent strong. He caught his breath, mustache moving like it was in a heavy breeze from his gasping, “I heard your music from my office,” he started, “and I heard my boss dismissing you, but I thought that it was great and I’d love to sign on you!”

Stringer and Tubby’s eyes shone.

“That’s… amazing to hear!” Stringer said, “We’ve been to two other places today that dismissed us too!”

The terrier laughed, “I guess this is your lucky break!” He then reached out a hand. Stringer accepted. “I'm Scotty Affen.”

“Stringer Spaniel.”

Scotty then reached to shake Tubby’s hand.

“Tubby Beagle.”

Scotty nodded, making a motion for them to follow him. “Now let’s make a contract. I have the feeling this will be a great relationship- you’ll be on the charts in no time!” He turned to look at them, Stringer and Tubby just ecstatically smiling.


	2. Ghosts, Ghouls, and Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ghost mom ghost mom ghost mom

_ “Trouble’s not a sometimes thing, it dims but won’t die out! Pleasure makes the Beagles sing, trouble makes ‘em sho-oout! Lookin’ for the Beagles! Not where rich men soar! Rich is for the regals, woe is all the Beagles kno-ow! Ridin’ on a busted bubble to wherever there’s some trouble, that’s where the Beagles go!” _

Stringer finished off with a riff.

Scotty just nodded, giving a few claps. He then hummed, “You guys think you could play that last line a couple more times, then play the riff?”

“Yeah,” Stringer answered, looking at Tubby for approval. He just shrugged and smiled.

They replayed it with Scotty’s suggestion, and after finishing agreed that  _ was _ better.

“Great!” Scotty exclaimed, standing, “You know, this song has given me a great idea for a music video.”

“Music video,” Tubby repeated, “That sure wasn’t in the contract.”

“Oh, it’ll be fun!” Scotty went on, “I mean we don’t have to, but it’d be a nice bonding experience.”

Stringer elbowed him, “Big-name bands do it all the time, it’ll be great!”

Tubby sighed, shaking his head, smiling at his partner and elbowing him back. “Fine,” he said, “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, your song is called ‘Looking for the Beagles,’ and I figure, it’s fall, Halloween is in fall, they’re setting up a haunted house in Central Park….”

Stringer smiled and nodded at Tubby, who promptly nodded at Scotty, who just clapped excitedly.

(...)

“Are we just breaking into a haunted house?” Stringer asked, holding flashlights in each of his hands, following Scotty down a sidewalk near a playground.

“You don’t need to get into scandals this early,” Scotty chuckled, “No, it’s open, but no one goes into haunted houses in daylight.”

“We don’t have to pay, do we?” Tubby chimed in.

“No.”

“Radical.”

Stringer and Tubby looked up at the building as Scotty fiddled with his camera. It was purple and as tall as the trees, run-down and built like a 1910s mansion. Stringer whimpered a bit. Tubby nudged him.

“I’ll protect you from all the ghosties, hon.” 

Stringer cleared his throat, crossing his arms, “I’m not scared.”

“Yeah?”

Stringer just blinked at him, making Tubby laugh.

“Fine, don’t come to me when you get scared to death,  _ alav hashalom.” _

“Oh don’t you start saying that just yet, I’ll survive through it! If anything I should be protecting you!”

Scotty took a picture of the building, stepping behind them for a full view, the camera clicking. Stringer jumped and grabbed onto Tubby. Scotty chuckled behind them. Stringer stared bitterly back at him. Tubby snickered, kissing his cheek. Scotty just hummed behind them.

“Scotty if you’re-” Stringer started, but Scotty cut him off.

“What? No, no, I don’t care, I’m just waiting. You nerds got any more PDA to do before we go in?”

Tubby chuckled, taking a flashlight from Stringer and handing it to Scotty, “No, I think we’re good,” he turned back to Stringer, clasping his hands together and putting them to his cheek, “Right  _ honey buns~?” _

“Oh my god,” was all Stringer said, skipping up to the door while Tubby and Scotty slowly followed, snickering. Stringer was stopped at the door, looking up nervously.

“Ah, hon, it’s alright that you’re scared-”

“I am not scared!” Stringer retorted, “It’s just-!” he rammed his shoulder into the door, nearly falling as it opened. The three stepped inside.

“You got a plan, Scotty?” Stringer asked, placing a hand on his now-strained back.

Scotty shrugged, turning on his flashlight, “Walk around for what, four or so minutes, just to be safe?” Tubby shrugged back, Stringer clicking on his flashlight too. 

Scotty readied the camera, but before he could start it, the door slammed closed, causing all three of them to jump. They all took a few steps back, startled.

“Well,” Scotty said after a moment of silent staring, “We’ve got flashlights, don’t we? Let’s continue.”

“Let’s,” Stringer gasped.

“You alright?” Tubby asked.

“Never been better!” he said, then jumped and grabbed onto Tubby as the floor creaked.

“...ah’right.”

He took a few steps forward, Stringer still tightly attached, floor creaking again. “So what, we’re just walking around?” Tubby asked, making no effort to pry Stringer off his body. Scotty nodded as the floor creaked louder around Tubby’s feet.

“Sure is loud right there.”

“Ambiance,” he answered without a thought, a loud crack nearby.

“I’m not sure….” Scotty muttered, floor creaking again.

“Tubby….” Stringer whimpered, Tubby ripping the flashlight out of his hand and shining it at the ground. A large crack sat right between the two’s feet.

“Oh no…” he muttered, slowly backing up to try and escape, each step creaking the ground even more. The floor just cracked more under them, falling, Stringer just holding tighter in an attempt to keep them from falling. It was all in vain, however, as they both fell down, screaming. Scotty rushed over immediately, dropping down to his knees to try and reach for them.

Tubby shook his head, standing, trying to jump up to reach Scotty, though he was far too high. He sighed.

“I’ll try to find a way down from up here,” Scotty said, frantically, “You guys try and find a way up.”

“Will do,” Tubby called back, voice edged in irritation as Scotty walked off. He turned and helped Stringer up, “If we survive this you’re marrying me,” he said, but Stringer just hugged him, tearlessly crying. Tubby quickly hugged back before pulling back and patting his cheek, “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” Stringer quietly nodded, picking up the flashlight.

“Surely there must be some staircase out, right?” Tubby mused, half to himself, half for Stringer's sake, “They must have planned for this, just in case.”

“Tubby, I don’t think  _ people  _ set this up,” Stringer said, voice shaking, tightening his grip on Tubby’s arm, “Haunted houses aren’t supposed to try and hurt whoever’s coming in.”

“What, you think this place was set up by supernatural unsatisfied spirits that faze through everything they touch?” he turned back to Stringer, who nodded, “Don’t be ridiculous. If you’re so scared of ghosts why do you even believe in them?”

“Because an unsatisfied spirit refusing to go the afterlife makes way too much sense.”

“I guess, but what would a bunch of ghosts need to set up a haunted house for? I’m sure their unfinished business isn’t with scaring strangers and especially not us.”

“Your mom-”

“Stringer why would my mom want to terrify and almost kill me?”

“I mean, I don’t know how she was.”

“Better than that.” Tubby snapped, then sighed, “I’m sorry Stringer, now’s not the time for this.”

“I’m sorry too,” Stringer murmured, “I’m just….” he made a noise of distress.

“It’s alright. We’ll get outta here.”

“You think?”

“We’d better, my dad’d kill me if I died down here.”

Stringer just chuckled.

(...)

Scotty was mentally cursing at himself. Of course, his first clients in five years had to go and fall down the floor of a haunted house, front door locked, tenants keyless. He stopped, realizing he had absolutely no idea where he was going, or really, what he was looking for.

What leads down to a secret basement? Probably nothing in the house. As he went to go out and start looking out for some cellar door, a ghastly moaning came from behind him. He turned quickly, ghost standing -floating, rather, Scotty figured- behind him. He wanted to scream but he was much too nervous. It looked just about what he had thought a ghost would. Pure white, the lower half was flowy like a visible breeze, the top half of the person who had given it up.

The person looked like a more feminine Tubby.

The ghost moaned again, reaching out a hand and slowly curling a finger, motioning Scotty to follow. Scotty nervously nodded, too scared to find out what would happen if he didn’t.

Scotty silently followed the ghost a long time, taking in his surroundings more and more in case of more rotten woody traps. The ghost stopped next to a staircase, but instead of going up it, turned back to Scotty and pointed at a door right next to the first step, then drifted up the stairs.

Scotty flicked his flashlight off at new-found daylight and turned to thank the ghost… but it was gone whenever he looked. He blinked in confusion but didn't let it weigh him down too much. He stepped out the back door back into the park and looked around. The cellar door he’d been looking for was a few yards away.

He heaved open the heavy door, then looked around for something that could keep it propped open. This was one of the most out of a B-horror movie things he’d ever done, but nevertheless, used a firm stick he found to keep it open after stepping inside, hoping that it would stay.

“Stringer..? Tubby?”

He walked forward a minute, turning his flashlight on again, looking around. The floor creaked. He jumped back, hoping there wasn't another layer to fall down. Shaking, he went on. After another few minutes, and after hearing another floor creak much further away from him, he shone his light straight forward.

“Ah!” exclaimed a figure with an accent.

“Tubby?” Scotty called, voice full of fear and excitement.

“Scotty!” Stringer called back.

“Hey!! I found an exit just up ahead!”

“Oh, sweet!” Stringer yelled back, Scotty moving the light to their feet, as not to blind them, but visible, so they wouldn't lose their way. They moved slowly, which was reasonable, but Scotty couldn't help being nervous about a not-so-friendly ghost appearing.

When they climbed out Stringer was breathing heavily, either from anxiety or a thought that he might get dragged back down, which was what Scotty was having.

“Well, I sure feel like I've gone to hell and back again!” Tubby exclaimed, Scotty laughing. “Well, this haunted house idea is a bust, what's the video plan now?”

“A corn maze or pumpkin patch or anything on solid, earth, ground!” Scotty exclaimed, causing all of them to laugh.

Stringer’s laugh ended in a groan, “In a few days, I’m going to have a multiple-day breakdown.”

“Understandable, get better soon.”


	3. Dizzy Dishwashers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sharing wishes is the boppiest bop you should listen to it

Stringer & Tubby had started to write a new song.  _Sharin Wishes._  It’d been sitting in the back-back of a drawer, so old and in such bad handwriting that they could immediately determine it was Stringer’s 10th grade pining song. Most likely after events of the Tubby’s Dad’s Apartment Date wherein Tubby’s dad told them to clean the dishes and they had way too much fun. The most inaccurate part was a verse about either of them having siblings. 

Singing it again with another ten years of musical experience really gave them a trip down memory lane, sounding just like they thought it did back then with minor tweaking. It was the gayest they’d been in front of Scotty.

Anyway, Stringer decided his favorite part was the chorus, he constantly hummed or muttered in around their apartment or their job. Ironically enough, half their job called for them washing dishes.

 _“Sharin’ wishes, over dishes, I was full of love for you~! Full of love, full of love, for yo-o-o-ou!”_  Stringer sang as Tubby brought over a tray of plates.

“You’re full of love for me, huh?”

“Sure am!” Stringer answered without missing a beat.

“Oh great,” Tubby said, placing pen and paper in Stringer’s apron, “Then you love me enough to take over waiting tables? Aw, you’re the best, babe.”

“Ha-hey wait!”

“This is a two-person relationship Stringer, we both have to contribute,” Tubby said, quickly tapping his partner's nose.

“You get paid just fine up there!”

“It’s arm hour.”

Stringer sighed, moving so Tubby could take his position. “A good relationship’s gotta be spiced up a bit, y’know? This is the only chance you give me to be behind you.”

“Tubby, that’s the worst thing you’ve ever said.”

Tubby just laughed, patting his back. Stringer sighed, taking out the pad and paper.

“Your brother asked me to your house for dinner, wonder why,” Tubby said, completely monotoned. Stringer just sighed louder.

“I’m starting to regret writing songs about our relationship.”

“It’s been nine years and you only started now, huh?”

“Have fun sharin’ wishes over dishes I was full of love for you,” Stringer fired back, having a harder time resisting singing.

“Aw, thanks, babe. Here’s to hoping no ones rude to you.”

“Is that why you wanted to switch with me?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“...you wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, Stringer, you know I conceal my negative emotions around holidays.”

“When we get home?”

Tubby softened his voice, finally focusing on his work, “...maybe.”

Stringer waved at him, leaving, humming their chorus. Only one person stood at the queue, human, in a dark suit, orange kerchief in place of a tie. He had sunglasses, a shaggy mustache, and pager in one ear.

“Booth, please,” he muttered before Stringer could ask… or even welcome. He just quietly led the man over, fanning the recently cleaned booth, pulling out pen and pad as he sat.

“And what would you like to drink, sir?”

“You make cocktails?”

“No, sir.”

“Then water’s fine.”

Stringer nodded, writing, pulling a menu out of a different apron pocket and placing it on his table, walking back. In a minute, he brought the glass of water.

“Are you ready to order, sir?”

“Yeah, let me get a large pepperoni. And say…” -Stringer felt a wave of anxiety overcome him- “You look familiar. Are you an actor?”

“Uh- no,” he muttered, anxiously scribbling, only thing legible being many messy p’s.  _“Shargn wishshhes ovver digshshshes I wwwaas fufulull of lovovvove for you…”_

“What was that?”

_“Mghrnrg…”_

“Were you singing?”

Stringer whimpered, scooting away toward the back, grabbing onto Tubby. Tubby turned off the running water, shaking his gloved hands.

“You alright?”

“No…”

“What’d you do?”

“I just got asked if I was an actor and I….” he sighed, ending in another whimper, “...I’m an idiot.” he buried his face in the top of Tubby’s head.

“Aw, hon.” he freed his hands from their wet rubber prison and wiped them on a nearby towel, “Okay, here, I’ll take orders you can stay back here and calm down a bit.” He took his notepad, staring at what he wrote. “...pepperoni?”

Stringer nodded. “Guy in a suit. He’s got sunglasses and a pager.”

“Alright. Be safe, hon.”

He delivered the order to the makers and received the pizza on a thin platter after a few minutes. Walking out, he figured he’d found who Stringer was talking about. He didn’t have a pizza and was wearing a suit, in any case.

“Pepperoni?”

“Oh, thank you. What happened to that other guy?”

“He got too nervous.”

“Oh, apologies. He had a lovely song from what I could hear. I was full of love for you,” he repeated, not singing.

“Oh, thanks. We wrote it together.”

“You two are musical partners?”

Tubby nodded.

He hummed. The man then opened his flap pocket and handed Tubby a business card. Tubby gasped in surprise as he read the name.

“You’re CB Schlemiel, the famous Hollywood producer!”

CB nodded, smiling. “Yep. And tell you what, if you can finish and record that song before the end of the week, I’ll find a place for it in one of my flicks.”

Tubby gulped, calming his nerves. “I’ll certainly tell him, sir.” With that, CB nodded him away. Tubby rushed to Stringer, who seemed calmer.

“Stringer!! We just got a possible record deal from  _CB Schlemiel!!”_

_“WHAT?!”_

(...)

“What!!” Scotty screamed, in their apartment bedroom, right after Stringer and Tubby had gotten off work. “CB Schlemiel, famous Hollywood producer, my  _favorite_  Hollywood producer, first of all, came into your restaurant and then offered to get your song in a movie?!”

Stringer and Tubby nodded ecstatically.

“At this rate, with you two getting all the deals, I’ll be outuva a job, damn!”

Tubby chuckled. “Oh, we gotta finish this.”

 _“Hhhhh...”_  Stringer whimpered.

Tubby turned around to start their setup. It wasn’t complex or fancy in any terms of the words. It was a laptop on a desk, and the corner it sat in was half-covered in foam. The microphone and pop filter weren’t the best, but they certainly got the job done. The same could be said for their recording and mixing programs.

Stringer anxiously watched, holding his guitar by its neck. Scotty gave him a pat on the back, giving him a nod of encouragement. Not that Stringer noticed. Tubby grabbed his bass and started recording, playing out the intro, nodding at Stringer to start. Absolute nonsense came from both his mouth and hands.

Tubby shot him a look of surprise, then concern, quickly stopping the recording.

“...you alright?”

“Haha, yeah!”

“....you’re shaking.”

“You were shaking too, it’s called the motion you make when you move your hands!”

“Stringer, you’re shaking currently.”

“See, look-!” He played out a riff that wasn’t any sweeter.

Tubby shook his head, sighing, looking past Stringer to Scotty, who had his arms crossed but wasn't looking at particularly anything.

“Hey,” he started, “It’s been a long day, Stringer and I haven't eaten in several hours and I doubt you have either,” he shrugged, “Let’s stop here for today and pick it up in the morning.” Scotty nodded, so Tubby focused his attention back on Stringer, “Sound good, hon?”

Stringer just let out another anxiety-filled whimper.

“Aw, sweetheart…” Tubby muttered, raising up on his toes to give him a kiss. When he came back down, he pulled the business card out of his pants pocket and handed it to Scotty, waving to send him on his way. Scotty nodded, giving Stringer another encouraging pat before leaving.

(...)

Stringer wasn’t much better the next day. Or the day after. Or to the end of the week.

“Stringer…” said Scotty, who was sitting on their bed after another failed recording. His voice was soft, more annoyed than angry.

_“Pleasedon’tgetmadatmeI’mtryingmyhardestI’mjusttoonervousandI’msorry.”_

“Stringer I didn't understand a word you said.” Scotty said, just as gentle, blinking.

_“IknowandI’msorry.”_

“Hey, hey!” said Tubby, “Let’s uh, let’s play something else. Let’s play Looking!” He played out the first few chords,  _“Looking for the Beagles, looking high and low…?”_  Stringer didn’t make much sense singing that song either. Tubby sighed.

“....please don’t get mad at me,” Stringer muttered, looking like he was on the verge of tears.

“Of course not, hon. We’ll just…” he looked at Scotty, who just looked concerned and shrugged, “We’ll just… record it later.” he decided, “Not for some Hollywood producer. Not for some movie. Just,” he shrugged, “For ourselves.”

Stringer seemed to relax himself, reaching out and grabbing Tubby’s hand, “But we’ll lose out on this deal.”

“Losing out on a deal is much better than seeing you so worked up 24/7.” He took a step forward and caressed his cheek, before softly kissing him. Stringer smiled, genuinely. Scotty  _awwed_ to catch their attention. Tubby looked at him, expression changing into a concerned nervousness about if that was a good decision.

“No, you’re right,” Scotty muttered, “I will hold you to recording that song sometime, though. I think it’s your best one.”

“Aw, thanks.”

“Sometime?” Stringer repeated, more to Tubby than Scotty, but Scotty nodded to confirm anyway.

“Sometime,” Tubby repeated, giving him another quick kiss.


	4. Drip, Drip, Drips

Manhattan didn’t look too great today. It was raining, heavily, hailing and snowing ever so slightly. If any tree had leaves left they sure didn’t now. The Beagles and their agent were all cooped up in their apartment, Scotty stuck in until he could go back to his own building and Stringer and Tubby there because they didn’t really have anything better to do, their workplace was closed. Plus, it was their apartment.

Tubby was curled up in a blanket, cuddled up asleep on Stringer, who was flicking through the TV for anything light-hearted that was on. Scotty, at the other end of the couch, quietly tapped on his phone, playing some color-by-numbers game.

It would’ve been a rather lousy afternoon, if not for the fact that whenever they all got the thought, the TV shut off to a  _“something has interfered with the satellite”_ message and the lights flickered to darkness. Scotty promptly lost service and shut his phone off, looking over at Stringer and Tubby.

“So… what now?” he muttered.

“...we’ve got some board games in the closet,” Stringer said, standing. Tubby sleepily repositioned.

“There’s a dreidel up there somewhere,” he yawned, stretching. Stringer nodded, heading off to their bedroom.

“You could’ve stayed asleep,” Scotty said.

“Yeah? Well, someone’s gotta beat the both of you at  _Sorry.”_

Scotty blinked, feeling jokey competitiveness rise inside him, “Oh, you’re on.”

Stringer returned a few minutes later, arms full of boxes. He sat them on the floor and started setting  _Sorry_  up. Tubby and Scotty got down as well once he finished.

Board games weren’t much more fun than sitting in a dark room without cell service.

Soon enough, they went on to the next game. And sooner after that the next. Within the next hour-and-a-half, they’d gone through them all. Stringer had gone off again to find Tubby’s dreidel and some dominos he thought were up there.

“So… dreidel, huh?” Scotty muttered as Tubby folded up their game.

“You couldn’t guess? I’ve spoken Hebrew in front of you and I’ve got the stereotypical accent!” He chuckled.

“I mean I-! I didn’t want to assume anything, you know?”

Tubby just laughed, shaking his head.

“What’s up?” Stringer asked, quietly, setting down a box of dominos, a dreidel and  _Monopoly._  Tubby quickly grabbed the dominos and worked to pry the metal lid off, Stringer placing the others on the stack.

“I’m Jewish!” Tubby exclaimed.

“What! No way!” Stringer exclaimed, sarcastically, laughing.

“I’m what the kids call dumb!” Scotty exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his muzzle, laughing at himself.

“You are not,” Tubby said, jumping as the lid came off in a loud noise, “I never told you and you didn’t want to assume. It’s considerate is what it is.”

He dumped out the dominos, scooting them around a bit, before picking his hand, nine instead of seven, Stringer and Scotty following suit.

“Did you know when you first started dating?” Scotty asked, placing the double six between them.

“He lisped too hard for me to pick up an accent,” Stringer answered.

“You had a lisp?”

“I had  _braces.”_ Tubby corrected. Scotty groaned. Tubby shrugged, “They weren't that bad. I had braces for like, ten years at that point.” Scotty groaned again, louder and more pain-filled.

He then chuckled a bit, turning to face Stringer, “How was your school life?”

“Terrible.”

“Why’s that?”

“Bad parents. Bad school. Bad classmates. Nothing like that New York school.”

“You aren't from here?” Scotty looked at him, surprised.

Stringer shook his head. “Texas. I got bullied relentlessly and then a boy kissed me and the school saw and told my parents and…” his voice went down into mumbles, stopping for a moment before picking up again, “I got physically and emotionally attacked by everyone I knew because it was That Part of Texas. So, when I turned 16 I packed up all my stuff, bought a plane ticket to Manhattan and here I am.” He shrugged to finish.

“...and you lived in Manhattan, the most expensive city in America and probably the world, when you were 16!?” Scotty’s voice was a mixture of admiration and confusion.

“I mean… no,” his voice went back down to just-understandable mumbles, “I was homeless and I stole cheap food and I’m not proud of myself at all but… I’m still alive, so.”

Scotty shook his head, smiling, “Why did you come to Manhattan, of all places!”

“Because it’s lots of states away and has a huge population,” Stringer shrugged.

“Oh, Stringer,” Scotty muttered, “That just sounds awful. I’m sorry you went through all that but, you’re right, you’re here now! And I couldn't be more proud of you!”

Stringer smiled, a bit embarrassed, turning away from him and nodding at Tubby to pass his turn.

“How did you two meet, after school, during, what?” Scotty spoke again after a few moments.

Tubby laughed a bit. “Oh, we were together in our school’s weird string-mishmash band section. I was first chair and he was second.”

“And you absolutely hated me!” Stringer laughed, leaning back against the not-tall-enough stack of board games.

“...I can’t imagine you two ever not getting along,” Scotty added after a second.

Tubby shrugged, smiling. “Well, how times change,” he shot a loving glance at Stringer, “The teacher always tried to get him to play electric guitar and me to play electric bass.”

“You don't even really need to learn anything different to play electric and standard guitar,” Stringer chimed in.

“Sitting next to eachother so much we warmed up to eachother,” Tubby went on.

“You did not, you threatened to murder me with a bow you stole from a violinist!”

Tubby and Scotty burst out laughing, and Stringer went on, forcing himself to keep his voice semi-understandable.

“I was pining for you since I realized you and I sat together.”

“Aw, babe,” Tubby said, softly, voice sweet.

“I mean I also fell in love with you deeper once I realized you would and could kill me?”

The three of them laughed again.

“And then the Bubblegum Project,” Stringer said fondly.

“Oh, the Bubblegum Project…” Tubby repeated.

“The Bubblegum Project?” Scotty asked, “Do I want to know?”

“In social studies,” Tubby started, “Which we also had together, we got paired on a project. Could be anything from the 60s, and because we’re flaming homosexuals who wouldn't be able to do one on being gay without getting angry, and because Stringer’s not Jewish, we chose music.”

“And bubblegum was our favorite 60s style…” Stringer finished.

“Did you get a good grade?” Scotty asked, Stringer and Tubby shaking their heads, making him laugh again.

“Mr. Loverboy over here wouldn't stop flirting long enough for us to get any real research done,” Tubby said, staring at his partner lovingly.

“Excuse me, you were flirting just as much!”

“Aww,” Scotty muttered, smiling to himself.

Tubby let out a happy breath, “I flirted a few times and then I was nervous about my dad overhearing.”

“Did he?” Scotty asked.

“Probably!” Tubby admitted, snickering, “Those walls are paper-thin and Stringer used his normal speaking voice.”

“Your mom would’ve been all over us,” Stringer chimed in.

“She sure would’ve,” Tubby said, closing his eyes and fondly smiling.

“...would’ve?” Scotty repeated, a bit quietly.

“Oh, Scotty, don’t tell me I forgot to tell you about my dead mom!” Tubby exclaimed.

“Your mom’s dead?!” Scotty exclaimed, “What! When!”

“When I was 13!”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

Tubby shrugged, “It’s alright. What about you, how’s your lovelife?”

"You know, few flings here and there," he chuckled lightly. Then Scotty took in a deep breath, more serious, “My first  _real_  girlfriend was a Hollywood actress when I was her agent and my most recent was five years ago and ended in divorce, which is always real fun.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tubby said, softly.

Scotty shrugged, turning his attention back to the dominos game, which hadn’t been touched in what seemed like ages. “We all stuck?”

Stringer nodded, grabbing all the dominos together to put them back in the box. “So… now what?”

“...you guys wanna learn how to play dreidel?”


	5. Tubby Troubles

_“I’m spending Hanukkah in Santa Monica!”_

“You absolutely are not.”

“I’m spending Hanukkah two floors up?”

“Better.”

Tubby chuckled, wrapping foil around a plastic plate of sugar cookies. “You wanna come, Scotty?”

“Am I allowed to?” Tubby shrugged, so Scotty went on, “Where are we going?”

“My dad’s. His name is Paunch.” Scotty nodded.

(...)

“Shouldn’t you two be at work?” Scotty asked as Tubby passed his plate of cookies to Stringer and unlocked his father’s door.

“Nah, the owners are Jewish, too.”

“Does mean we have to work Christmas,” said Stringer, who went on after Scotty gave him a look of sympathy, “It’s not that busy, usually. Pizza isn't… really a Christmas food.”

“We regularly eat pizza on Christmas,” Tubby retorted, putting his keys back into his pocket.

“We eat pizza all the time.”

Tubby tilted his head in agreement, opening the door, he yelled out. “Hey dad, we’re here!”

“Ah!”

The beagle emerged from the kitchen, he looked just like Tubby, down to the sweater he was wearing. His fur was gray all over and he had a mustache like Scotty’s. He quickly came over and hugged Tubby, their tails wagging.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you two,” Paunch said before looking behind Tubby, “Oh, you three! Hello!” he stepped closer to Scotty and firmly shook his hand with both of his, “Hi, I’m Paunch, I’m Tubby’s dad.”

“I’m Scotty, I’m their agent.”

 _“Agent!”_  Paunch exclaimed, turning to Stringer and Tubby, “When did you two get an  _agent!”_  he chuckled, “Oh, I remember when you two were just two teens in your rooms improvising and covering… you’ve come so far!”

Tubby smiled, looking away. He took Stringer’s cookies and quietly delivered them to the kitchen.

“I made sufganiyot!” Paunch called to Tubby. Stringer’s eyes lit up and he excitedly clapped his hands, wagging his tail. Scotty couldn’t help smiling.

(...)

Most of the Beagle’s celebration was watching holiday specials, playing dreidel, and making latkes and sufganiyot. Not that any of them were complaining, good break with friends was always welcome.

Paunch had absolutely destroyed Tubby and Scotty in dreidel. Stringer sat beside Tubby, stuffing his face with sufganiyot, not helping whatsoever. Now Tubby and Stringer had gone out, and Scotty and Paunch were watching obscure Hanukkah and Passover movies.

“You know, I wasn’t aware there were so many Judaism-centered movies,” Scotty said, quietly.

“Yeah,” Paunch answered with a shrug, “You know how all channels are four letters?” he started with a laugh, “Well this channel got the letters W-W-E-J and they decided to use it well.”

Scotty laughed, and after a moment Paunch stood, before coming back and plopping down next to Scotty, just barely touching.

“Tubby’s out so it’s my civil duty as his father to show his friends his baby pictures.”

Scotty chuckled as Paunch opened the book, showing various pictures of a young Tubby and exposing the fun stories that went along with them. But then on one page, he stopped. The pages only had two pictures between the two of them, one side had a blue-coddled Tubby being held in the arms of a woman who looked just like him, absolutely exhausted. The other was of a teen Stringer and Tubby, both in their sweaters, though the leather jacket Stringer wore was much too big for his small frame.

Paunch was quietly smiling, staring at them rather than Scotty, silent. He sighed and closed the book.

“I hope I didn't drag you too much away from your family this year.”

“Oh, it's fine. I didn't… really have anyone to spend it with anyway.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Paunch shifted so that they weren't touching, “I hope you had a good time with us, then, I know we didn't really… do much,” he shrugged, “I’m sure Tubby and Stringer will be back in a bit, then I’ll light the last candle and you're free to leave. I know we didn't talk much but… I enjoyed your company.”

Scotty smiled, nodding at him.

(...)

Outside Paunch’s apartment and heading back to their own, Scotty had a big, stupid smile on his face.

“You alright?” Tubby asked.

“Great,” he lowered his voice, “Your dad is real cute and I like him a lot.”

In response, Stringer giggled, and Tubby leaned his head back, raking his hands up his face and through his glasses, sighing through his teeth.

“Oh, I can't believe this,” Tubby said, voice in a groan, “I invite you to one Hanukkah and you get a crush on my dad!”

“He’s  _pre-Paunch-essing!”_

Tubby groaned again and hurriedly stepped off the elevator, going off to hide away in their apartment. Stringer spoke up.

“As his boyfriend, it’s my job to say what he’s thinking, and I have no doubts he’s thinking something along the lines of  _Scotty, you’ve said a lot of things, but that's the worst thing you've ever said.”_

Scotty patted his back, laughing, before sending him off to go join Tubby in embarrassed anger.


	6. I'm Gonna Capture You

“Hey, babe, happy ten years.”

Stringer nonchalantly opened a pop bottle, not looking up, “I’m 28.”

Tubby chuckled, then looked up at Scotty sitting not too far away, not doing much. “Did we ever tell you how we got together?”

“Bubblegum Project?” was all Scotty said.

Tubby laughed again, lovingly glancing at Stringer. When Stringer noticed he walked over to where Scotty sat on the couch, setting his bottle on the coffee table. He then sat on the arm of the chair.

“Okay, so-”

(...)

Junior year was as slow and tiresome as ever. Stringer sat at the back of class, only paying attention because the teacher was pairing students for a project.

“Tubby Beagle and Stringer Spaniel, you two are together, you’ve also got the 60s.”

Stringer could feel Tubby’s eyes shooting daggers at him, even in front of him. When the teacher called for the class to move toward their partners, Tubby was already scribbling in his notebook. Stringer silently slid down into the chair next to him. Tubby sighed and stared more daggers at his new partner.

“....hi," Stringer greeted. A nervous smile cross his face and he brought up one hand.

“Hey, I don’t expect you to do much on this,” Tubby responded quickly, tapping the end of his pen against his book, making tiny dots of frustration.

Stringer blinked in surprise, “What, because you’ll take it all or you think I’m an idiot?”

Tubby just smiled smugly and turned back to his notes.

“Excuse you, I know plenty about the 60s,” Stringer huffed, staring at Tubby’s writing, “Elvis was in the 60s, The Twist was in the 60s, The Archies were in the 60s, Stonewall was in the 60s-”

“Do you know who threw the first bottle at Stonewall?”

“Sylvia Rivera,” Stringer smiled, just as smug as Tubby’s.

Tubby’s smug smile fell and half-lidded amazement went over his face. “Are you gay?” was the next thing he asked. Stringer nodded without a second of thought. “Cool,” Tubby went on, “I doubt the teacher would appreciate a queer essay, and you’re second chair in band so… you wanna do it over music?”

Stringer was a bit taken aback, and just stared at him. “What, because you know I’m gay now you like me?”

“I like you because I don’t have to worry about you calling me the f-word now,” his face became more serious, “And if you say one thing about my Judaism I will not hesitate to murder you, Stringer Spaniel.”

“...I didn’t even know you were Jewish.”

(...)

The project, as Stringer and Tubby would soon find out, would be taking the place of their final. If they did well they wouldn't have to take it. Overall, they had four months to complete the project- since dubbed The Bubblegum Project by Tubby and  _Sugar, buh-dum-dum-dum-da-dum-dumm, Oh Honey, Honey_  by Stringer- which would be plenty of time, granted there were no roadblocks.. In Stringer’s mind, this was an opportunity for Tubby to befriend him but in Tubby’s, it was his own personal hell.

...it  _would've_  been his personal hell. If not for the fact that two months and a questioning about Stringer bringing his guitar with him everyday led to Stringer revealing he was homeless. Then, and only then, Tubby softened. Because now Stringer was a full-time roommate and a full-time schoolmate.

“I like you like this,” Stringer muttered quietly, absolutely derailing Tubby’s zoned out memory reel.

“That's the creepiest thing you've ever said.”

“You're not mad at me all the time! It's nice!”

“I’ve never been mad at you.”

“You're a dirty, dirty liar, Tubby Beagle!” Stringer giggled. Tubby smiled, refocusing on the project.

...he  _would've_  refocused if not for the fact that a few minutes later boney fingertips were touching his own. Tubby shook his head, still smiling and pretending not to notice until Stringer’s fingers were firmly intertwined with Tubby’s own.

“Oh, loverboy,” Tubby said, causing Stringer to jump and retract his head, face flushing red. Tubby just laughed in response. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy, huh?” Tubby quietly said, still laughing.

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“You're the one who tried to hold my hand!”

Stringer just sighed through his teeth, “You better have a license, because you're driving me crazy…”

“I've got a learner’s permit, that good enough?”

“Oh my god,” Stringer replied, the two laughing again.

Tubby sighed nervously, “Let’s stop flirting and start working on the project, okay?”

“Project of stealing my heart, but you've already passed.”

“Stringer…!”

Stringer sighed again, happily, still chuckling. He grabbed Tubby’s hand again. “Would you get mad at me if I kissed you?”

Tubby blinked in surprise, turning to look at him. He quickly smiled, “Ask me again once you have.” But then anxiety flooded both their faces. Stringer moved forward, about to place a kiss anywhere but his lips. Tubby pulled away before he could.

“You slip a-way from me, I tell the tru-u-uth…” Stringer softly sang, Tubby looked back up at him.

“...are you singing?”

“Yes?”

“A song you wrote?”

“Lyrics and chords have certainly been sitting in my head for a while.”

Tubby stared at him, curiosity and infatuation across his face, “Go grab your guitar, I wanna hear the rest of it.”

But Stringer looked nervous, standing and grabbing the instrument against the door. He then sat down on Tubby’s bed. Stringer started to tune, trying his hardest not to look at Tubby, who seemed to be looking so deeply into the person on his bed that Stringer would lose his soul.

“It’s not very long... Stringer informed, “Or very good.”

“It’ll be amazing,” Tubby encouraged airily, a light smile on his face.

Stringer turned red, clearing his throat, before he started singing quietly, “I reach out to feel, your hand but, baby, you are slippery as an eel… hey, what do you do? You slip a-way from me, I tell the truth. What can I do-o-o-o? I wanna capture you.”

Tubby stood up and grabbed his bass, standing in front of Stringer and plucking some strings, hoping they’d sound good. Stringer went on.

“I’m feelin’ righteous, if I should capture- if I  _could_ capture you,” he quietly cursed himself, but went on anyway. Tubby giggled. “You slip a-way from me, I tell the truth-”

“What can I do-o-o-o…” Tubby interrupted, moving his instrument away and caressing Stringer’s face, “I wanna capture you.”

Stringer made a sound, terribly flustered at the contact. After several seconds, he managed to squeak out an, “I love you.”

“I know.”

_“Tubbyyyy…”_

Tubby laughed, putting their foreheads together, “I love you, too.”

(...)

“Cuties, the lot of you,” Scotty murmured after Stringer finished. He then faced Tubby, “I see why you call him Mr. Loverboy.”

The two giggled, staring at eachother lovingly.

“You two ever write that song down?” Scotty went on after a second, letting them have their moment.

“Mhm,” Tubby answered.

“Still have it?”

“Sure,” Tubby went on, a mischievous smile on his face, “But it's in Stringer’s terrible highschool handwriting.”

“Excuse you, Mr. Small Cursive,” Stringer retorted.

“Yeah? Yeah, what?”

“...in my defense, I can't make out either of our old handwritings,” he conceded.

Tubby laughed, sitting up from his place on the couch to kiss him.

Scotty spoke, softly to himself, turning away, “I’d say capturing was a mission success.”


	7. Colors

Stringer loved learning and hearing new words. Especially all the foreign words Tubby knew-- which he gave him way too much credit for.

Currently, the two were in bed, sleep much closer to Stringer than Tubby.

“Tubby?” asked a rather drowsy Stringer, “Will you say new words to me?”

“According to all-”

 _“Tubbyyyy!”_  he chuckled.

“Fine,” laughed Tubby, pulling him closer and lowering his voice. _“Tzahov, shachor. Tzahov, shachor. Tzahov, shachor. Tza-”_

“You’re still quoting the Bee Movie aren’t you.”

Tubby sighed dramatically while Stringer sleepily laughed again.

“Fine,” he sighed, defeated.  _“Adom, katom, tzahov, yarok, kachol, sagol, lavan, kesef, afor, shachor...”_

Stringer hummed as he spoke, getting as close as he could, before closing his eyes.

“What were those?”

“Colors,” Tubby murmured, casting a glance at the flag above their bed. Stringer noticed.

“...I can’t believe you forgot the rainbow colors.”

“I can’t believe you put it past me!”

“I thought  _I_  was the forgetful one in this relationship.”

“We’re both the forgetful ones _I_  just remember when bills are due.”

Stringer giggled, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s stomach. “Thanks. I love you. G’night.”

 _“Ani ohev otcha._  Night.”


	8. Tubby Troubles (Alt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/22/19 edit: i reread the alt ending and actually kinda liked it, so its here now.

Stringer, Tubby and Scotty were scouting around some trees in Central Park. Partly for good spots to take album covers, partly because they all really needed to go outside. Tubby was on a not-so-secret quest to find the tree with their initials.

“You ever carve your initials into a tree, Scotty?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Oooh! What were they?” Stringer chimed in.

“S ‘n M, baby,” Scotty replied, smug smile on his face.

Tubby let out a light snicker, “Did you?”

“...shut up,” Scotty muttered, rising the inner thirteen-year-old in both of them. “I can show you it. It’s in Strawberry Fields. It's funny because it wasn't forever!”

Stringer and Tubby didn’t find their tree, but Scotty found his. He assumed it was his, anyway.

“Tearing off bark with keys doesn’t leave much creativity to markings,” he’d said.

“So who’s this M friend?” asked Stringer.

“Her name’s Magnolia,” he muttered, “I doubt she kept my last name. She was this Havanese-breed gal that I was with for six years.”

“Yeouch!” exclaimed Tubby while Stringer hissed through his teeth.

Scotty shrugged. “She was a strange one. Claimed I had some sort of part in her miscarriages, but that's a story for another day.”

Tubby nodded, satisfied. As he headed back to the sidewalk, he got a foot caught in the fencing and fell straight onto his face. Stringer rushed over, panicked and screaming. Scotty followed, not as loud.

Tubby was fine, his glasses, however, were not. One of the arms was completely out of place and one lends was cracked. With a sigh and a grumble, he grabbed onto Stringer to stand.

“Ar-are you okay?” worried Stringer.

“Sure,” Tubby muttered, shaking his hand, “...I literally can’t see if I’m bleeding or not.”

“You’re not, laddie,” Scotty muttered, not wanting to get any closer.

“Sweet,” he said back, emotionless and still clinging to Stringer for dear life, “We’d best be heading home then.”

“Stay safe.”

(...)

It didn’t take Tubby very long to realize he was too nearsighted for his own good and needed new glasses soon.

“I don’t even know where an eye doctor place is,” said Stringer, “And it’s not like I can drive you there!”

“You say that like you have a license in the first place,” Tubby grabbed Stringer’s hands to pause his worrying, “I’ll ask Scotty, okay?”

“...okay.”

Then they heard something slide under the door. Tubby let go of his partner to pick it up. It was an envelope, and when he opened it with a key nearby, he vaguely saw a card inside. He handed it to Stringer to read.

“Sorry for your glasses breaking and also all the stupid things I’ve made you do, signed Scotty. There’s also money.”

“How much?”

“Uhh…” Stringer flipped through the money, “There are seven bills here and they all say twenty.”

“Yikes,” exclaimed Tubby. “That’s one hundred forty dollars, babe,” he added more softly. Stringer nodded, his confusion dropping.

“Mmm….” Stringer hummed, “...That’s uh. A lot. Is that enough?”

“Sure,” Tubby said as he pushed the gift back into its envelope. “Dare I say more than enough.”

“You think Scotty can still make rent without this?”

“...he’s a talent agent, Stringer, I’m sure he can.”

Stringer smiled slightly, “He is a talent agent who’s only clients haven’t done any songwork in months.”

Tubby rolled his eyes and smiled back, “Fine. We’ll give him what’s left over.”

“And,” Stringer mused, “He’s probably already driven back to his apartment now, and it’s nice to give people _ga~as.”_

Tubby shook his head and let out a light laugh, elbowing him. “You know, you’re not supposed to give gifts back.”

“It’s money and we live in Manhattan, I think there’s an exception.”

“You sure are persistent, you.”

“We live in a material world. And I’m a material  _ga~al.”_


	9. Bye Bye Bi

Paunch had come out to his son recently. Ever since, he’d had a sneaking suspicion that Tubby had been up to no good. And that was just what he thought as he heard the door click open and the very hand of said son set something on the ground and leave.

He sighed and got up to lock the door again and pick up the gift. A CD, in its case,  _ congratz :)  _ written squiggly on top. Paunch couldn’t resist the smile forming on his face. Tubby was never good at writing on slick surfaces. 

Tubby also wasn't a mixtape man, so Paunch knew some sort of joke  _ had _ to be on there, but he had no idea what.

So, of course, he put it in the CD player, tapped the buttons, and waited. It was several seconds before any sound came out, just long enough to make Paunch think the joke was a blank CD.

_ “I’m doin’ this to~night-!” _

“...ah.”

(...)

“Oh my god.”

Tubby and Stringer were at Paunch’s apartment, and Tubby was looking over Paunch’s book-and-CD shelf.

“Hm?” said Stringer.

“Oh my god…!” Tubby managed to say, holding a case with one hand and the other covering his mouth as he laughed. He turned to Paunch, still beaming. “You  _ kept  _ this?!”

“Sure!” Paunch answered, only making his son laugh harder, “I’m not going to throw out a near-empty disc with a bop on it, Tubbiory!” 


	10. California Dreaming

_“If everybody had an ocean, across the U-S-A~!_

_Then everybody would be surfin, like Californ-i-a~!_

_You’d see em wearin their baggies, huarache sandals, to~o!_

_Bushy, bushy blonde hair~do! Surfin USA!”_

Scotty was humming along to his radio, California sunlight streaming in through his office window, filling out paperwork. It’d been a week since he’d gotten accepted into the position of  _bonafide talent agent_  but he had yet to earn himself a client.

His boss had really gotten onto him about it, but he didn’t let it bother him too much. Then his phone rang, and Scotty, fully expecting it to be another noise complaint or insult of his music taste, preemptively turned the dial to zero on his radio.

“Hello, Affen,” he greeted.

“Hey, hon, just sent two people your way!”

“Oh, sh-- thanks!”

“Dream on, sir, Amur might turn you down~!”

Scotty shook his head and scoffed to himself, then he placed the phone back on its hook, put out his cigarette, and waited.

Soon enough, two people barged in. One was a white human man in a blue suit not unlike Scotty’s, an orange kerchief was in the place of a tie and white-rimmed sunglasses were clipped onto his lapel. The other was a pale Afghan Hound in a white off-the-shoulder dress that nearly matched her fur-tone, her ears trimmed in a way that looked like the dog-equivalent of a bob.

“Morning,” said the man, “My name is CB Schlemiel, and this is my friend, Sasha Jackson. I’m looking to direct a movie and she will star in it.”

Scotty was taken aback a moment by the speed of his speech, and for a moment wondered why he was in the agent seat rather than him.

“Well, shoot.”

(...)

Shockingly enough, Amur, his boss, had given Scotty the go-ahead for CB and Sasha. Scotty got a bit too attached to the both of them and decided to stick around on set after helping them rent a place. Their movie was called  _California Red Light,_  a drama-filled story about drugs and drag races of a run-down California city in the 80s.

He liked Sasha a lot more than he liked CB. Currently, he and Sasha were laughing and drinking coffees while a scene where she was very in-the-background was being shot. Scotty’s heart fluttered every time he heard Sasha’s laugh. He quickly came from agent to friend, in any sense.

Scotty didn’t know how, but they’d gotten on the topic of Christmas songs and how much Sasha hated them.

“I’ll give em one thing,” she mused, taking another sip, “I think Santa Baby’s a banger.”

“Oh, I hate that song.”

Sasha let out a light snicker and elbowed him, “Oh sure. But it did give me my favorite nickname.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.  _Sixty-nine convertible_  was my nickname in college.”

Scotty bust out laughing. So much so CB shot Sasha a look, but she just waved it off.

When Scotty finally came back down he wiped an eye. A few seconds later, he spoke. “Oh my  _goood._  Did you live up to it?”

“Yup. Hey, can I let you in on a secret?” she added on after Scotty came back from another laughing burst.

“Shoot.”

She lowered her voice, “I’m transgender.”

Scotty blinked, confused, and took a sip of coffee, “Okay?”

“You care?”

“Not really. I think my boss would kill the both of us if she found out, though.”

Sasha let out a light chuckle, taking her last drink and making a solid three-pointer into the furthest trash can. She clapped her hands together at her throw-well-done before waving to Scotty, heading back to set.

“Hell,” Scotty muttered to himself, into his cup, “I’m falling in love.”

(...)

CRL was well on its way toward completion. The three were nearly inseparable in work hours, and Scotty and CB really warmed up to eachother. So had Scotty and Sasha, in a sense, the only thing their very flirtatious relationship was missing were romantic affection and commitment. Not that either were taken.

Sasha had finished all her scenes, in any case. Sasha was just about to leave, too, putting on her jacket. Scotty impulsively rushed up and tapped her shoulder. Despite the state of their relationship, she seemed even taller and more intimidating in the thick cat-eye of her character and her leather.

“...will you go out with me?” he asked quickly and quietly, hoping CB wouldn’t hear and knowing full-well he’d shout at him if he did.

“Sure,” Sasha answered without a thought, jingling her keys in her pocket. “Where you thinking?”

“I know a pretty good bar-n-grill in Burbank.”

Sasha nodded, “Sweet.”

It went well. They ate and foot-tapped to the jukebox. Scotty had to cut himself off after one drink because he knew he’d do something stupid if he drank more. Also because he knew that if he was blackout drunk, Sasha would actually steal his car. She made fun of him.

“I don't know, Scotty,” she said, “You always seemed like the type to sneak a bottle of white wine into your finals and pass it around during lunch.”

“Lord knows I needed it,” he answered, making Sasha laugh. “You take me for a white wine guy, huh.”

“Sure. That or straight-up moonshine.” Then it was Scotty’s turn to laugh.

Turns out he didn't need alcohol to do stupid things, because before he started driving off, he gave a deep sigh.

“I think I love you, Sasha,” he admitted.

 _“Think?_  God, we’ve been having an affair for months and you’re just now realizing?” she answered, but her tone was more jokes than anger.

“Okay, you're right,” Scotty added after a moment, “I don't know,” he admitted, “I didn't want CB to jump down my throat for us being together.”

Sasha snickered and smirked at him, “Well, in that case, you wanna take it to your place, find out if you're really a moonshine man?”

Scotty let out an embarrassed laugh and felt his face catch fire. He placed one hand to a closed eye and pressed harder against his seat and the wheel.

“Jesus chi-hi-hi-st…”

(...)

“I’m sorry, you’re  _what?”_

Scotty turned around. CB was blocking the door back to the inside of the wrap party. Scotty felt his heart skip and he clutched the railing of the balcony harder.

The three had started and finished their second movie, Scotty and Sasha secretly dating all the way through. This confrontation couldn’t be good.

“What…?” he softly said back, hoping he wouldn’t get in trouble if he didn’t acknowledge anything.

CB came forward and prodded his chest, “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Prescott. You know  _exactly_ what your and Sasha’s relationship is.”

Scotty gulped and stepped away to put out his cigarette. He worried about what CB would do to either of them and impulsively answered, “...and?”

“Your relationship is  _absolutely_ inappropriate and I can’t believe it’s even a thing.”

“...m’sorry.”

CB crossed his arms and sighed, disappointedly looking to their feet, “No, you’re not. You don’t care. And neither does Sasha,” he turned to go back inside, “I’m finding a new agent.”

“Sasha won’t go with you.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

(...)

Scotty wasn’t sure where he was or how he got there. It was dark and storming and so misty he couldn’t tell the sidewalk from the road, which was already confusing enough. He truly felt like a pathetic lost pet just looking for its owner who could only see in monochrome.

Least to say the loud honking didn’t help soothe his anxiety, and he only realized what was happening as a car slammed into his thigh and his prosthetic got caught on something--

Scotty shot up, gasping. He was in his apartment- his  _Manhattan_ apartment- and it was the same navy blue it’d always been. The curtain next to his bed was just barely open, but still relentlessly poured in moonlight and streetlights. He could feel his prosthetic against his good leg and everything was there.

No one was next to him. Not Sasha. Not Piper. Not the one after Piper. Not his most recent crush. He sighed and dragged a hand across his face before lighting a cigarette and grabbing his phone. He’d be lucky to sleep for the next week after that.


	11. Man in the Moon (alt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i pretend to enjoy milk for way too many words
> 
> i keep thinking about a Man in the Moon where Tubby's the hero and Stringer stays knocked out, so here it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one actually follows canon, somewhat! (still set in 2018!)
> 
> (Cream is the tall one from Underdog vs. Overcat)
> 
> (i dont think this one is actually canon)

 

Tubby huffed and opened his eyes. Still in a spaceship. That was real, huh?

"Stringer?" Tubby asked, trying to shake his boyfriend awake, to no avail. "Oh, boy. He must've hit his head bad…" he stood and started to walk toward the door, "Scotty! Scotty! Oh, where are you-"

He froze, just tall enough to see out of the window in the door. Outside of them stood the pure black void with white pieces of glitter in the vastness of space. Tubby clutched his chest and hitched his breathing, rushing to the control panel and trying his hardest. He hit a button on the radio and hoped to God something worked.

One click.

"H-hello?! This is the Beagles, out in space! Can anybody hear me?!"

Tubby couldn't force himself to keep his mouth closed while breathing, he was about to have a full-blown panic attack.

"Oh, hello Beagles, yes, this is Professor X calling here. Are you alright?"

"Alright?" Tubby spat back, "No, we're scared to death!"

"Ah, Tubby!" exclaimed Scotty, "Quickly, now, the Professor and I are about to hook up to a nationwide broadcast. The whole world is waiting to hear you sing your new song from outer space!"

Tubby panted, "We're lost in space and all you care about is our career?!"

"Well, Tubby-"

" _STRINGER'S KNOCKED OUT!"_ Tubby exclaimed, tears falling and unable to hold his anger, "I can't! Get us home!"

The Professor came back then and Tubby could only imagine Scotty was actually feeling remorse for once.

"Tubby, you're going to have to steer home, I can't remote you back! Do you think you can?"

"If breaking through the atmosphere doesn't kill me first," he muttered flatly, voice shaking but emotionless.

"You won't die. The rocket's completely heat-proofed!"

Tubby wanted to shoot back about how it was controlled by nothing but a lever in the ground, no failsafe, no emergency stop but he didn't have the mental capacity to.

Hanging up, Tubby turned to the wheels and had no idea what to do. Standing up and looking through everything, he certainly saw some blue-and-green orb. Was it paler than Earth or were those his glasses. He turned the wheel that way and headed back to Stringer, picking him up and doing his best to secure him into the seat.

He hardly did it quick enough, because soon enough Tubby figured they'd entered orbit and the whole rocket was shaking. Rushing back to his seat, he tried his hardest to do any buckle, which was quite the task between his shaking hands and turbulence.

Soon enough they'd crashed again, on the ship's bottom. Tubby panted and pawed at his face, trying to calm down before leaving. From the sight of things, Tubby had landed in some sort of park, if anyone was gathering nearer he didn't see them.

Unable to calm himself, Tubby undid the poorly-put-together buckle and stood. He collapsed in front of Stringer's case and worked the locks, taking out the guitar.

"Sorry Stringer," he whispered, "Johnny's the only weapon I got."

It was suddenly so much heavier than it'd ever been. If Tubby had a bow, he would've used that, but unfortunately he didn't. Flinging open the door, Tubby stepped out into the park. He was surrounded by cream tabby cats on all sides, all wearing shorts and floral shirts like they were vacationers to Hawaii.

One tall cat in a red floral shirt stepped forward. Tubby's grip around Johnny's neck tightened.

"...hello?" asked the cat.

Tubby let out a breath, "Hello."

"What's your name, friend?"

"Tubby. You?"

"Cream. May I ask your business?"

Tubby motioned to the ship, "My uh…" he cleared his throat, "Friend and I accidently got blasted out of Earth. He hit his head pretty hard and we… need to get back and to a hospital."

Cream's eyes went wide. "Oh," he turned away and cut his arms through the air, dismissing the crowd, "Cheesecake!"

A slightly shorter cat rushed up, coconut in hands.

"...Cream?"

"Hi. Can I steal your ship for a bit? These people need to fly home."

Cheesecake took a drink of the coconut through a straw and shrugged, turning around. Cream turned back.

"Do you have anything else in your ship?"

"I do," Tubby answered softly, "Just two things but… they're kinda heavy."

"I lifted heavy things all the time," Cream laughed, "I can lift it. You carry that knocked out friend."

Tubby felt his face tighten and felt the need to start crying again. Voice cracking, he nodded, "Thank you so much."

Tubby headed back into the ship and placed Johnny back into his casing, picking up his still knocked out boyfriend in his arms. Cream didn't seem to be struggling with either instrument, though did look a bit confused at what they were. Tubby smiled at him gratefully, and Cream lead him across the grass and sand to a short rocket that looked like a cat's head.

Cream set down an instrument and opened the door before heading them in and placing them in the back.

"There's only two seats," he informed.

"Stringer's sat on my lap before," Tubby responded quietly, "I don't think he'd mind."

Cream looked at him, a bit confused, but didn't say anything. In the seat, Tubby held Stringer closer, shallow breathing against the fur of his ear strangely comforting. At least he wasn't dead, Tubby told himself.

Cream put on a suit quickly and popped his knuckles, starting to fly away.

"I assume you live on Earth, Tubby?"

"What country?"

"America. New York, Manhattan Island."

"Oh!" Cream exclaimed, "I've been to Manhattan Island. Say, does Underdog still live there?"

Tubby blinked, a bit surprised this cat from another planet knew Underdog. "Y-Yes. I believe he lives with his roommates Shoeshine and Polly in the floor below me."

Cream's eyes sparkled, "Neat! He beat up our king once, you know."

"...no I didn't know."

"Mhm! Our planet ran out of milk, and Earth was the nearest planet with milk, so we stole all your cows and then Underdog came and beat up our king and now we have a democracy!"

Tubby hummed, deciding not to comment on the state of their own.

"Well, it just became a democracy. The last royal, Overcat's sister, had a litter but she ran off somewhere."

"Mhm?"

"Yeah! So we gave Earth their cows back and we got a bunch of coconuts!"

Tubby blinked and tilted his head. "Why didn't we give you our goats."

"...goats?" Cream repeated.

"Sure. They have milk. ...not much else you can do with a goat, I don't think."

Cream's eyes shone. "Do you drink milk, Tubby?"

"I. Uh. I eat something with milk  _in_ it a few times a year," he cleared his throat, "I'll um. Buy you some goat milk and give you the recipe, as a thank you."

Cream smiled.

(...)

Tubby lived up to his promise and called Scotty as soon as he got home, who was very relieved to hear him again. Tubby changed his clothes, ordered a pizza, set Stringer on their bed, and called Professor X to apologize for leaving his ship on some strange cats-that-aren't-lactose-intolerant planet. Soon enough, Tubby had food and Stringer had woken up.

"Hi," he said, quietly.

"Stringer!" Tubby exclaimed, shooting up and hugging his now-sweatered body. "Are you okay?"

"I have a pounding headache and I'm absolutely starved and parched and exhausted, but I think I'll live. Why did I wake up in a spacesuit?"

"Because Scotty had some weird stunt and we were in space for a few hours."

Stringer tilted his head, "Did you get high when I was taking a nap? What kinda trip did you have?"

Tubby laughed and smiled, just hugging him tighter and being very glad he was okay. "Whatever. I'm glad your okay. You got real hurt in my… trip. I bought a pizza.

"Can I have some?"

"Of course you can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if this IS canon Tubby sure had quite the drug trip lmao
> 
> (dont do drugs)


	12. Banana Bread

“Hey, Tubby?”

* * *

 

The Beagles always had Saturdays off. And just like the rest of their Saturdays, this day was being spent in and out of subconsciousness on their couch, that sweet July sunlight coming in from the window behind them and the window in the kitchen.

Tubby was having one of those not-awake spells in his favorite spot, the couch and Stringer’s bundled-up legs.

Stringer gave his boyfriend a light shake, “Tubs!”

Tubby jumped,  _“Ah!_ What?”

Stringer let out a breathy laugh, bending so he could place a kiss to the top of his head.

“What’d you wake me up _forrr…”_ Tubby went on, sitting up.

“So, uh,” Stringer started, “Turns out I’m an idiot?”

“Yeah,” Tubby muttered, sticking a hand under his glasses and rubbing at his eye, “What else is new?”

Stringer huffed and wriggled his arms out from between them, looping it around Tubby’s shoulders instead. “So I know you don’t like cake too much, and you like the cake-bread, but I cannot for the life of me remember what kind it is.”

“Banana bread?”

“Is that it?”

“I think so, I didn’t quite understand what you said.”

Stringer hummed thoughtfully, typing it into his phone. “...looks right.”

“Radical. Can I go back to sleep now?”

Stringer let out another one of his breathy laughs and nodded, giving Tubby one last kiss to his cheek. Tubby didn’t notice, he’d already drifted off.

(...)

One week later and two days before Tubby’s birthday, Stringer had concocted himself a plan. Stringer, however, did not know quite how to execute it.

Well, he knew the simple thing. Bake banana bread without Tubby knowing what he’s doing, since it’s a surprise. Tubby wasn’t in the kitchen very often, they already spent the rest of their week in someone else’s, but Stringer didn’t want to take any chances. Also, he thought it was a bit rude to kick Tubby out of his own apartment.

“You look frustrated,” Tubby murmured, rolling over in bed and putting his arm around Stringer’s stomach. “What’s wrong?”

Stringer smiled and patted his arm, “Nothing. I think I’m gonna get up.”

Tubby drew his arm back and made a noise of disapproval, but didn’t make any move to stop him. Standing, Stringer put on loose pants and his sweater, rolling up the sleeves, and stepped out of their bedroom.

Within the week, Stringer had been buying the ingredients he would need. Tubby was very confused as to Stringer's motives, but had never said anything, as Tubby usually did.

Anyhow, Stringer was trying his best. He was attempting to be quiet and not wake up Tubby- Tubby was a deep sleeper and the room was half-soundproofed, but he didn’t want to take any chances at ruining his surprise.

Tubby got up and into the kitchen just as Stringer was putting his best attempt at banana bread batter in the oven, not that Tubby noticed; he was cleaning his glasses and, although not very far from eachother, his eyes were not good enough to see just what Stringer was up to clearly.

“Good morning, honey,” Stringer said, smiling and hugging him from behind.

“Hi. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. How are you?”

“Fine. What are you doing in the kitchen?”

“I was hungry,” Stringer responded, not a complete lie, “And then you came in.”

“Oh,” Tubby yawned, putting his glasses on, “Cool. Hey, will you grab me a water bottle while you’re in there, please?”

Stringer nodded and backed toward the fridge, on the other side of the now very-warm oven, grabbing Tubby his water bottle before stepping out to deliver it. He sat down beside him, kissing his cheek.

“I thought you were hungry,” Tubby said quietly.

“Yeah,” Stringer nodded, “I have a thing cooking,” he said, again not a complete lie.

“Oh.”

Stringer nodded again, looping an arm around his shoulders. For the better part of an hour that’s where they stayed, Stringer occasionally placing a kiss on Tubby’s face or neck. After that better part of an hour was up, the oven dinged. Stringer jumped up, beaming. Tubby watched on, confused, and followed.

“What did you make?”

Stringer was still beaming, and turned around to show Tubby his creation. He looked a bit surprised.

“...banana bread?” he went on. Stringer nodded happily. “Why?”

“What do you think?”

Tubby shrugged.

“Happy birthday, babe!”

“Oh… oh!” He exclaimed as Stringer set the bread on the counter, “Oh, Stringer… that’s so nice.”

Stringer hummed, moving to hug him. Tubby quickly hugged back.

“I love you very much,” Stringer said quietly.

“I love you too,” Tubby responded, voice a bit choked up, “Thank you so much…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was thinking abt cavetown, which is weird bc i dont listen to cavetown, and decided tubby liked banana bread so heres fluff


	13. Suspicious Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bad words + miscarriages

_“We’re caught in a trap._

_I can’t walk out._

_Because I love you too much, baby.”_

Scotty was pressed close against his bedroom door, caught between the sounds of a music-only TV station and sobbing wife. He didn’t know what the hell to do, he didn’t know how the hell to take the news that another child had bled straight out of her.

Scotty tried, he really did, not to compare his partners, but it was times like these that he really missed Sasha’s presence. Not even in a romantic sense, just the thought that she wasn’t near enough to come breaking down a door holding a bottle of wine and a handful of confetti.

He sighed. They’d been together six years and just got married in the last three. Magnolia desperately wanted a biological child and would not take adoption for an answer, despite the fact she was terribly infertile. And Scotty knew that wasn’t just an assumption, a doctor had told her the same thing. But she was Magnolia and Magnolia didn’t accept that answer.

“Maggie-” Scotty said softly, not even trying to move closer.

“No!!” she screamed back, “Shut up, shut up!! Scotty, we just-!! Don’t you care!?”

“I care about you not bleeding through to my mattress. Put something on, Christ.”

Magnolia came up from her hands to shoot daggers at him. “That’s all you care about? Your sheets?”

“Yes, Maggie! I’m not gonna sleep on something soaked in blood, that’s my side you’re sobbing on!”

“We just…” she breathed, strained, “We just lost a child and all you care about is how clean your sheets are.”

“It’s been a week since you--  _we_ \-- found out, Mags. It’s not even-” he sighed, dragging a hand across his face, “I swear, we get into this every month. I’m sorry I’m not as sad the twentieth time you tell me we had another miscarriage!”

Magnolia scowled, and managed to say between sobs, “Get out.”

Scotty blinked in disbelief, “What?”

“Get. Out.”

“No, it’s my goddamned apartment.”

“Get out!!”

“Maggie--”

“Don’t  _call_ me that! Get out!”

“How ‘bout you get out!”

“What so you can call in your _girlfriend_  and get  _her_  pregnant instead of  _me?!”_  Magnolia asked, even angrier if that was possible. Scotty froze. “Leave,  _Prescott!”_

Scotty held his tongue. He hated that name and he hated every time it got used. He even moreso hated this cheating accusation. He shook his head and resisted any action the worst parts of his brain were telling him to commit, and padded, slowly, to their dresser. Magnolia turned around to watch. She knew he kept a switch in one of the drawers and Scotty figured she was just worrying.

Of course, her worry about Scotty stabbing her just refilled Scotty’s cocktail of anger, sadness and annoyance.

_What **happened**  to us?_

“Okay, tell you what,” Scotty said, forcing away all negative emotion in his voice and pulling out the first tie his hands could grab, “We both go out, cool off, wash the sheets and we can…” he let out a breath, “Try again some other time.”

But any of Scotty’s hopes were gone just like their third attempt at starting a family, and it was honestly a chore at this point.

“You’re gonna take me to a bar and leave me to hook up with that Sasha gal of yours.”

Scotty froze and felt the fur on his shoulders rise. He turned around slowly. She knew Sasha. She’d been through his computer. She’d been through his emails.

God-- and if she thought his relationship with Sasha was cheating he wondered what she thought his relationship was with Piper, the deskman at his old California job, was. Piper didn’t hide the fact he was gay and Magnolia knew Scotty would date a man.

“You’re never welcome at my office again,” he said coldly, “Now get off my bed so I can change the sheets and put on a damn pad.”

He grabbed one of her underwears and handed it to her after she stood. Magnolia, eyes still full of tears, looked between Scotty and them for a minute.

“Would you like a shirt with that, too, it’s not healthy to sleep in bras.”

Magnolia wiped her face and passed him without a word, so Scotty got to work.

“You want me to try and find a good courthouse next week?”

“What for?”

“So we can get a divorce.” Scotty kneeled down, squinting at a stain he couldn’t tell being grease or blood.

Magnolia’s voice was quiet, “D-divorce?”

Scotty pressed a knuckle to it. Dry, and on the side. It was grease until the morning. So, he went on to pull off the rest of the sheets. “We aren’t happy, Mags. Every month we try to get pregnant, and then you miscarry, and you yell at me because you believe I caused it! And you don’t want to adopt and I don’t  _fucking_ want kids in the first place!”

“Scots-” Magnolia said quietly.

“You know what? No. No, you were just yelling at me and not letting me get a word in. You just accused me of cheating on you! And accusing me of getting a woman with a dick, who you know is a woman with a dick, pregnant! Honestly, how far are you willing to stretch reality just to prove yourself right! And I don’t say anything because I  _love_  you!”

Scotty pulled the sheets together and couldn’t bear to look at his wife. He was too pissed off to care about putting on another sheet, no matter how strong both of their hatred for sleeping on mattresses was. Scotty sighed again, sitting on the corner of the bed.

“I can hear it so clearly, Maggie. You’re up on the stand saying I assaulted you and kicked you in the stomach so you’d miscarry. And that isn’t a good sign!” He managed to look up at Magnolia, but not really, moreso the crystals and her jewelry on top of the dresser.

He stood and sighed, grabbing the sheets. “I’m gonna run these down to the laundry room and calm down. Don’t bleed on the mattress.”

“Okay,” was all Magnolia said. Scotty would never admit it hurt.


	14. Captain of the Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter makes my heart warm

“Be the captain of the _shiiippp…”_

“Be the captain of the  _shiiippp…”_

“Be the captain of the ship you sail…”

Tubby stopped playing while Stringer finished, looking at Scotty. “Are you crying?”

Scotty shoved his kerchief back into its pocket, “No! I don’t cry,” he lied. Sniffling, he stood, “This gives me a great idea for a music video!”

“Oh, no!” The two said in unison.

“It won't involve nearly falling to our deaths, will it?” asked Stringer.

“Not if all goes well!”

“What, are you going to hijack a boat?” Tubby chimed in.

Scotty hummed, “No… I was just thinking we go down to the beach.”

“...well,” Tubby concluded after a brief pause, “I'm always down to go to the beach.”

“Yeah, but,” Stringer responded without missing a beat, “We have to go to like, Coney Island. Or the Bronx. And those are very far away.”

Tubby snapped, pointing at Scotty, “Stringer’s right. Also, the ocean has all sorts of things and I’ve seen both  _Jaws_  and  _Titanic._  They gave me an anxiety disorder.”

Scotty chuckled, “You think the shore off Long Island has icebergs or sharks? Come on, it’ll be fun.”

(...)

It turned out that Tubby couldn’t fit his anxiety medication in his pants, so Tubby was more nervous than usual. His eyes were the size of dinner plates and his arms were crossed, tail trying its hardest to tuck.

Tubby also had another anxiety-inducing thought, one that he dared not tell anyone. This worried Stringer.

They’d all collectively decided that the subway probably wasn’t the best idea, so Scotty- the only one who owned both car  _and_ license between the three of them- had taken them there. Which meant Stringer would absolutely be paying him back for gas. Tubby, meanwhile, completely forgot where they’d parked, including the whereabouts of that anxiety-inducing thought.

Scotty had also insisted wearing actual swimwear, since it was a bit strange to see a man in a suit, a man in a sweater, and a man in a sweater  _and_  a leather blazer at a beach.

“I feel weird having my arms out,” Stringer said, straightening the white shirt he was wearing and crossing his guitar over his chest as he tended to do. “Showing off all my scars…”

Tubby hummed and grabbed one of his partner’s arms by the wrist, before tapping a scar with his thumb. “You know, Stringer,” he started, looking up at him, “They’re just about the same color as your muzzle. People might think they’re just weird markings.”

Stringer huffed and smiled, “Thanks, babe, but I don’t think there’s any convincing these aren’t, uh…” he let a deep sigh in and out, “...man-made.”

“Hey,” Scotty said, sticking his own arm out to reveal his very own legion of scars. Stringer had more than him, but not by very many. Scotty then retracted his arm, “And hey. I’m missing an entire leg!” he exclaimed, laughing.

The Beagles let out light laughs themselves before Tubby spoke.

“Should you be getting sand in that, Scotty?”

Scotty shrugged, “I’ve got a cover on it I’ll… probably be fine,” he patted his thigh and spoke again after a few moments, “Anyway, you got any scars, Tubby? Add to our legion?”

Tubby smiled and released his boyfriend’s arm, “I put mine on my thighs. More room, you know?” he laughed a bit, then fanned his hands around his torso, “Got quite a few stretch marks, those count?”

Scotty nodded, then chuckled. “We have enough white marks we can make an art piece on black paper!”

Tubby smiled and Stringer let out a light laugh. After retrieving their instruments from the trunk, the three found a secluded spot. The ocean sat in the background along with the blue-gray sky of cold sunlight on a cloudy day. It was still bright enough for the city’s nightlights to not be on yet, but dark enough and blue-toned enough so it looked like it did in Scotty’s head.

There weren't many people out to begin with- what's the point of going to the beach if you can't get that sweet, sweet sunlight?- but The Beagles and agent were out of the way anyway to the few people who  _were_  there.

Tubby blew a raspberry as he sat down. “Ugh. I haven’t played a bass on the ground in a long time. You know, they’re called  _standing basses_ for a reason.”

Scotty hummed in acknowledgment, brushing his tail over the sand for no other reason than enjoying the sensation.

“Times like these playing electric would come in handy, huh?” asked Stringer smugly, trying his best to show off the very comfortable, natural position he was in.

Tubby shot him a hard glance, earning a laugh. Proud of himself, Tubby smiled.

“How  _are_  we gonna do this, though?” Stringer asked, “We don't have any of our electronic stuff.”

“Awh, heck,” Scotty murmured, “I'm sorry! I forgot how much of your stuff was computers.”

“We can do it acoustically,” Tubby shrugged.

“You think?” Stringer asked. Tubby shrugged again. “It’ll take some reworking.”

“That's alright,” Tubby encouraged, “Let's warm up first. You know what the beach always makes me think of?”

“No. What?”

Tubby plucked a string,  _“Girls on the bea~ches, commit a sin…”_

 _“Ahhh!!”_  Stringer exclaimed, playing his own notes,  _“If they don't show yards and yards of skin!”_

_“Preceding message for you has been!”_

_“Through the--”_

Tubby joined Stringer’s voice,  _“Courtesy of the Fort Lauderdale Chamber of Commerce!”_

They smiled at eachother and Stringer went on normally before the last verse.  _“Pretty girls eighteen to… forty-three?_  I'm sorry Scotty I don't remember how old you are,” he added hurriedly.

“Thanks,” Scotty said flatly, though he still had a small smile on his face.

Once they finished Stringer wooed and the two high-fived.

“That was nice,” Scotty complimented.

“Thanks,” answered Stringer.

“I was recording it. Wanna keep it?”

“Sure,” answered Tubby, casting a glance toward his partner. Stringer nodded his approval. Scotty nodded back. Thoroughly readied, the Beagles started to rework the song so that it would work between two instruments.

Occasionally, anyway. Both had their fair share of a sudden verse of another Elvis song, and Scotty had his fair share of laughing fits at them. Once they finished, Scotty gave a cheer and a clap before shutting off his camera and collapsing the tripod. He then stood.

“That was neat,” he smiled.

Stringer beamed and Tubby whispered a “Thank you.”

Scotty leaned back, placing a hand on the back of his waist. “I have sand in my tail,” he said, “So I’m going to dump it all in the ocean.”

Stringer stood as well, “I need to, too.”

Tubby joined them,  _“Aaand_  I’m a beagle!” Tubby laughed, “I’ll hold your stuff.”

Stringer let out a light laugh himself, “I don’t know. Last time I was behind you, I remember your tail being pretty plumey.”

Tubby smiled smugly, “And then you became a switch.”

Stringer lit up red while Scotty burst out laughing. Tubby huffed a laugh and stood on his tiptoes to give the very flustered Stringer a kiss. He then took his partner’s guitar and tapped him lightly with his forearm before taking Scotty’s camera.

Heading toward the ocean, Scotty spoke.

“What’s your song about, anyhow?” he asked.

“Feelings and things,” Stringer responded, wagging his tail in the water. “Remember when we all got stuck in Tubby and I’s apartment?”

Scotty nodded.

“I don’t… quite remember all I told you then. But I had a pretty hard time as a kid, and then I moved up here and… met Tubby and stuff, you know?”

“Mhmm…” Scotty hummed quietly, “I see. Be the captain of the ship you sail,” he then smiled, “I reckon showing your scars just adds to the message, huh?”

Stringer smiled and self-consciously rubbed his biceps. “I guess so, huh? Um. Tubby’s probably worried about us. I’ll pay you back once we get home.”

“You know you don’t have to do that, lad.”

“I know,” Stringer smiled, “Tubby always tells me the same thing.”

Scotty smiled himself. “You know, for having a bad upbringing, you sure are nice.”

Stringer beamed, “I sure try.”

By the time everything was done and The Beagles had put their instruments back into the trunk of Scotty’s car, the clouds had cleared and the sun was setting. A few city lights freckled the opposite skyline.

“Hey, wait a sec,” Tubby said, “I’ve got a surprise for you, Stringer.”

_“Ooh!”_

“I can’t believe you smuggled something into my car,” Scotty said flatly, but he was still smiling.

“Oh, ha-ha,” Tubby responded, closing the back car door and keeping his hands behind his back. “So, Stringer, you know I love you alot, right?”

Stringer nodded. Scotty’s eyes lit up in realization and he smiled smugly. Stringer was standing in front of him and didn’t see nor notice.

“We’ve been dating for… what, nearly eleven years at this point? We’re nearly thirty, we’re in a band together, we’ve lived together for the past nine years…” Tubby went on.

“Mhmm..?” Stringer hummed, confused.

Tubby sighed. “Well, I was just wondering,” he murmured, shifting his feet before kneeling and revealing what was behind his back.

Stringer immediately jumped and cupped his hands over his mouth. “Tubby…?” he squeaked.

“Stringer…” Tubby said softly, “Will you marry me?”

Stringer let out a whimper. Tears edged his eyes and he sounded as if he was sobbing already.  _“Tub~by_ … o-oh… oh, of c-course I will…”

Tubby stood and slid the ring on his finger. Their eyes met and, for a very long while that Scotty wasn’t willing to interrupt, they stayed like that. Eventually, Tubby leaned up and gave his new fiance a nice kiss. Scotty clapped.

“Congrats!” he exclaimed. Tubby nodded and Stringer drew his hand across his face, wiping away his tears.

The car ride was filled with Stringer and Tubby whispering various sweet nothings to eachother. Scotty drove them home and didn’t accept the gas money Stringer tried to give him. Now the closer-to-being-real Beagles were preparing to shower and sleep.

“Did you tell your dad?” asked Stringer.

“I will in the morning,” Tubby shrugged, “Do you want me to grab you clothes?”

Stringer smiled, “That’s so nice of you.”

Tubby nodded and stepped closer, grabbing his hands. “Anything for my fiance.”

 _“Fiance…”_  Stringer repeated, “That feels… so nice to hear.”

“Feels nice to say.”

Stringer hummed a laugh, tilting Tubby’s face up so he could kiss him easier. Tubby tossed his arms around his partner’s neck to lock him in while Stringer looped his around Tubby’s waist.

When Stringer pulled away, he whispered. “I love you so much, Tubby…”

Tubby hummed and changed his arms to wrap around Stringer’s torso. He pressed closer to him in a hug.

“I love you too, Stringer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha get it captain of the ship, im the only beagles fan there is, i made em propose? he he hoo


End file.
